The Survivor
by E. M. Morning
Summary: A sequel to The Hunter. Old wounds are opened once Kim is set to be released from jail.
1. Chapter One

The Survivor

Chapter One

"_Alan, are you coming?"_

_Alan stared at Sam, looking unsure of why he was talking to him. His dark hair clung to his forehead, matted down by sweat. It was unbearably warm in the store, and even hotter outside. Sam wanted to go out and get ice-cream to help cool down. Edgar agreed; they only had to wait for Alan. Edgar was growing annoyed for having to wait for his brother's reply. Even the most simple of questions could be proven difficult for Alan to answer, something that had always bothered Edgar; it should not be that difficult to answer a yes-or-no question. Finally, Alan shook his head._

"_I'll stay here in case someone comes in."_

"_No one is coming," Edgar said. "It's ten o'clock, and we have been empty for hours."_

"_You never know."_

_Edgar stared at him, and for the briefest moment of time he wished that they were not brothers, or at least Alan could be different. He was weird. Their whole family was, but Alan was weird in a sad, desperate way that Edgar could not stand. "Fine, be that way," he said._

"_Can I borrow if you are staying here then?" Sam asked._

_Alan scratched at the surface of the counter top with his thumbnail, trying to remove some sort of mark. "Go for it."_

"_Thanks! Do you want to bring you back anything?"_

"_I'm fine. You guys go ahead."_

_He would not want anything, Edgar knew this before Alan even answered Sam's question. As soon as his focus turned towards the counter, Edgar knew that Alan had left to whatever little world he escaped to. It was fine with Edgar; he did not always need Alan tagging along, at least not with Sam there. The two friends turned and headed towards the door. As Edgar exits the shop, he says to Alan, "Try not to die of boredom while we're gone."_

Twenty-five years, one month and three days later this moment still plays in his would be the last moment that Edgar Frog would see his brother alive, the final moment in which his life would be normal, or at least as normal as it ever could be. And the last words that he would ever say to Alan were, "Try not to die of boredom while we're gone."

Ha! The irony of it! But such is life- at least Edgar's life. It is funny, almost amusing in some sort of twisted a way that only Fate could conjure up, that he would tell his brother not to die and then goes and does it anyway! Well, Alan did not die on purpose and he did not die from boredom, he died from asphyxiation. It is a terrible word, isn't it? It has an evil, hissing sound to it, like a large snake trying to choke the life out of whatever poor victim it had managed to ensnare. Asphyxiation; it can still make Edgar's skin crawl. And not only was it asphyxiation, it was asphyxiation at the hands of a pedophile, a type of beast that twenty-five years ago Edgar did not completely understand the horrible depth to its nature. Now he can see better how defenseless his brother was against that man, how terrified he must have been being abused by someone over twice his size and foot taller than him, or so Edgar had read somewhere. Alan was still young, and, as far as Edgar knew, had no interest in sexual relationships with any sort of person. Not that it mattered to his killer. The man, whose name Edgar becomes ill at the very thought of, decided that he was in love with the child, or so he claimed in the morbid journal he kept, and did what he thought was the only thing he could do. He kidnapped Alan, took him right off the streets back to his house, the house of horrors as many news papers dubbed, to rape and then murder, leaving Edgar the sole surviving child in his family.

Survivor; it is another word he cannot stand. Edgar is the surviving child, the surviving brother. He survived growing up with a dysfunctional family and the gruesome death of his brother. Survivor is a glorified status, one that is often quickly forgotten. People rarely remember those who are deemed as survivors. They will remember the victim and most often the killer, but it is often the relatives that get lost in the aftermath. Chances are that very few people remember Edgar Frog, aside from the small group that continues to follow the murder. Yes, in his death, Alan had gained a sort of fame/infamy. The boy most people would pass without so much of a glace while he was alive had his own little group of cult followers, and thanks to the connections provided be the Internet, people interested in serial killers and crime in general could discuss the case more easily.

It had not been that way at first. There was nothing too interesting about another boy being murdered. It is sad, but not interesting. But throwing a serial killer into the mix catches more attention. Even the people of Santa Carla, who are quite familiar with murder, were giddy with morbid fascination. A serial killer? In their town? Of course it would not be all that surprising considering that Santa Carla is considered to be the murder capital of the world; there are bound to be a few running about, but this particular serial killer had been active in the streets for over twenty years, spreading his crimes to several other states. He had up to seven known victims, Alan being the last and the most well known. It was his picture that was placed right next to his killer's on a cover of a run of the mill true crime novel written by a man that, in Sam's words, a travesty to the world of literature and perhaps humanity in general. The other boys were briefly mentioned in the book as well as in the media. No one cared to hear about the teenage drug addict or the seventeen year old runaway. Alan was the youngest, the most attractive, as their mother claimed, and compared to the others, the most innocent. His home life also gave the story a heartbreaking twist, gaining more sympathy for the poor boy that lost both his childhood and his life.

During the brief period of time of the height of his brother's fame/infamy, Edgar had grown to near insanity. It was hard enough dealing with the loss of Alan on his own, but seeing his name and hearing the emerging details was something he could not stand. There was nothing to distract him once that vile mad was dead and the authorities had arrested his just as crazy sister, and Edgar was left to his own thoughts that were plagued by his brother. As the years passed, all twenty-five of them, those thoughts became less constant. There were new distractions, new experiences and new memories to help fill in what was lost. He tried to push that summer further back into his mind, but just as he believed it was safely locked away, there it would come randomly bursting out, shattering his world once again.

On one of these such days, today in fact, Edgar found a trigger while he was on the internet, browsing the local news page. He does this daily to see if there were any headlines that indicated vampire activity. It had taken time, but a few years after Alan had died Edgar was able to go out hunting vampires again, though he was not as passionate about it as he had been when he was younger. It was not the same, of course, not even with Sam there for help. Sam would try his best, but he was not nearly as good as Alan had been even at the age of fourteen. Sam could get too fussy or talk too much for Edgar's taste. Still, Edgar appreciated the effort.

Just as the homepage finished loading, Edgar goes into shock. Right there in front of him is a picture of his brother, one taken at his last Christmas and that has become the most used. Alan smiles at him through the screen. On his left is a photo of his killer and to the right is the mad sister's mug shot. The thought of his brother being near those two monsters in any sort of way sickens Edgar; he should drop a call to whatever idiot conjured up that bright idea. Below the pictures is a title that reads "_Serial killer's sister set to be released in Two Weeks"_

Two weeks? Could twenty-four years already be up? Edgar wondered. That was all the woman got. She was charged with manslaughter and child abuse, only receiving twenty-four years for taking part in the crime. In Edgar's opinion, she should have gotten more for knowing what her brother was doing to Alan and doing nothing about it. She was just as terrible as the killer. Edgar can still remember the trial quite vividly. He was forced to sit with his aunt and uncle on uncomfortable wooden benches. His parents were next to him, his mother breaking out into random sobs and out bursts, causing her to often be ushered out of the room. The Emerson's would come to show their support, most often being Michael since Lucy did not want to object Sam to the experience. Edgar did not have to go; he was advised not to. But he chose to, only to make sure that he would be there to make sure justice was served. The woman, Kim, was crazy. Edgar could tell as soon as she went to the stand. Kim complained that it was not her fault that her brother brought home the little slut, a name that she often referred to Alan as. There was no way she could have gone against her brother without getting her or the boy into more trouble. It was also revealed through the journal left behind by her brother, that Kim had been the one who carved the word "whore" into Alan's stomach. It was at that point that Edgar decided she must die; no amount of jail time could make up for what she had done.

Knowing full well that he would most likely regret it, he clicked on the title and skimmed through the news article. It held little interest to Edgar; he already knew most of the content. The idea of that woman being released in two weeks, free to do whatever she pleases, made his blood boil. Her sentence could not possibly be over, not yet. It just isn't fair.

Edgar scrolled down to the comments section. He often avoids reading them as it only frustrates him to read just how stupid people can be, but he could not resist this time. One wrote that the police should have shot her with her brother to save the city the money. Edgar smirks at this; it would have been the best solution for all. Most comments were like that, expressing hatred towards Kim and giving sympathy to the poor child she helped kill. There was only one that Edgar read that said different. The man, or so Edgar assumed judging by the user's name, John S, said that if Kim had done her time, then she should be free to go. Edgar disagreed, of course. If he would ever to run into this John S, he will have to punch him in the face.

Edgar exited out of the web page and stared blankly at the computer screen. His mind is reeling. There are too many thoughts and memories flying at him, and he cannot keep them straight. He has kept this away for so long now, kept it buried so deep that he had nearly forgotten that there had ever been a Brad or a Kim; only Alan and their life before that. But now Kim will be back walking around Santa Carla; the city he and his brother had grown up in, the city he tries to protect from all types of monsters. She is still alive and breathing, and Alan is not. Edgar thinks of Sam then, and wonders if he has seen the news yet. He searches for his phone amongst the mess on his desk. He will have to clean later, before Sam arrives and goes into a rant about Edgar's less than adequate housekeeping skills. Edgar locates the device under some crumpled paper. He goes through his short list of contacts, stopping at Sam's name. The phone is about to reach a third ring and Sam has yet to answer it. Still, Edgar waits, knowing full well that Sam is never too far from his phone.

"You better pick up," Edgar mumbles to himself as he pushes some loose papers into a pile.

* * *

><p><strong>So, this is rather short and not very good for a first chapter, but I did try!<strong> **I have been debating for some time about writing a sequel to The Hunter. I wanted to be finished for it, but it kept getting ideas, and I thought it would be interesting to see what it would be like with Edgar growing up without Alan. I am not sure how good this is going to be, but we will find out! I am also working on another multi chapter length story, which I need to update, so hopefully I will not fall too far behind in both. It was probably foolish to start this, but oh well! Thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter Two

The Survivor

Chapter Two

_The comic book store was Sam's favorite place to be in Santa Carla. Home was too quiet and too boring, and the boardwalk soon lost its charm after a few weeks of living there. But the Frog family's comic store was the perfect haven for him. It provided him with an endless and free reading supply. He could also pass the time by annoying his two new friends, something he took great joy in. Edgar was his favorite to tease; it was much easier to get a reaction out of him compared to Alan, who seemed to be more at peace hanging out in the background. Getting Alan to make any sort of reaction was difficult. However, there were a few occasions where Sam was able to pull it off successfully. _

_It was in early July, right after Independence Day and the height of the tourist season. The Frog brothers are always busy, leaving little time for fun. Sam had to find ways to sneak some in before he went insane. One of his favorite methods was telling the Frogs terribly cheesey jokes, knowing full well that it will annoy them rather than amuse them. They were far too serious to understand how horrible can be funny._

_Sam watched Alan as he worked on setting up a new comic book display. Sam did not bother to ask his friend if needed any help; he has something more entertaining in mind. "Hey, Alan," he said._

_Alan said nothing, but glanced at Sam to confirm that he was listening._

"_What kind of music does geologists like?"_

"_No."_

"_No what?"_

"_I am not listening to any of your jokes," Alan said as he reached for anther comic. "They're dumb."_

"_They aren't dumb!" Sam exclaimed. "You're just upset because you don't get them."_

"_I do get them, and they aren't funny. They are really terrible."_

"_But that's why they are funny!"_

_Alan shakes his head._

_Sam stood quietly for a minute or so before talking again. "Hey, Alan."_

"_What?" Alan said after a moment of hesitation._

"_What's brown and sticky?"_

_Alan sighed. "What?"_

"_A stick."_

_Sam watched as a smile slowly crept across his friend's face. Success! _

* * *

><p>Once Sam left Santa Carla he never meant to come back unless it was absolutely necessary. He would return for holidays, and then he would only stick around long enough to see his family. He kept in little contact with anyone from high school. The only person he talks to regularly was Edgar. They manage to squeeze in a few phone calls during the week if there was enough time, and of course Sam sees him while he was back in Santa Carla since Edgar continues to be included in most Emerson family activities. They are still friends, best friends, but Sam has a new life now. He lives in New York, working as an editor for a magazine. On a few occasions his boss asks him to write editorials on whatever current trend he deems worthy or unworthy. His job keeps him busy with both the work and the social perks that come along with it. There is little room in his life for Santa Carla, which is a bit more than he would like. He left for a reason. Santa Carla is meant to stay in the past and that is where Sam tries to keep it.<p>

That is until he gets a call from Edgar.

Sam is in the middle of doing one of the things he does best: procrastinating. Sitting on his desk, there is a sizable stack of layouts to go through that needed to be done by the end of the day. He has done everything he can think of to put off doing work and is about to put an end to his procrastination when his cell phone goes off. Sam grins as his phone vibrates across the desktop. Saved! He waits a few moments before answering to make it seem like he is busier than he is. When Sam finally reaches for the phone, he sees Edgar's name flashing across the screen.

"Edgar?" he wonders out loud. He quickly answers before it goes to his machine. "Hey!"

"Have you checked the news lately?"

"That is some way to greet your best friend, buddy. Don't I get a "hi" or anything?"

Sam hears Edgar grumble about something on the other end. "Hey."

"That's better! How are you doing?"

"Have you seen the news lately?" Edgar asks again.

Sam rolls his eyes. Typical Edgar, always straight to the business. "Are we talking Santa Carla or national?"

"I don't know. Santa Carla."

"Nope, sorry, bud. I haven't had time. Why? What's up?"

There is a long pause. "Edgar? Are you still there?"

"Yeah." Edgar waits a moment longer as he collects his thoughts. "They're letting her out."

"Her who?"

"Kim."

Then it clicked. He knows who Edgar is talking about. It's not possible. "No way," Sam says as he opens up an Internet window. He quickly goes to Google and types in "Santa Carla California news". He finds the site right away. "She can't be out already." Sam scans the webpage, searching for the article. His breath hitches as his eyes fall onto the image of Alan. Sam sees him every day; he keeps a picture of the three of them in his bedroom. But seeing Alan outside of the normal setting always seems to catch him off guard. It is still strange to think that so many other people know his friend, and for such horrid reasons. Sam barely reads the article; the title is enough. Edgar is right. That man woman is being released.

"Dude, this is fucking ridiculous," Sam says as he scrolls down to the end of the article. "Fucking ridiculous!"

"I know."

"She can't get out!"

"I know."

"It's not fair!"

"I know," Edgar repeats, softly.

"What are we going to do?" Sam asks. "Do you think there is any way we can keep her in there longer?"

"I don't know. Possibly."

"We need to try." Sam scrolls back up to the photo and stares at Alan. "We just can't let her walk away."

"I know."

Sam sees the phone on his desk lights up. He has another call, most likely from his boss to check in on his nonexistent progress. "Look, bud, I got to get back to work. I'll talk to you soon, though. What are you doing this weekend?"

"Probably nothing. Why?"

"I'll try to come back for a bit."

"Sam-."

"We need to talk. I can pull it off; I don't have anything that is too important," Sam says as the phone continues to flash. "Besides, I could use a break. Just promise me something."

"What?"

"Don't do anything stupid. At least not until I get back."

Edgar snorts. "I'm not the one who is going to do something stupid."

"You were always the irrational one, bud. But I got to go now, for serious. Talk to you this weekend!"

"Bye."

"Bye!"

Sam quickly hangs up his cell and then reaches for the phone on his desk. "Hello? Yeah, I'm working on them right now. It's great stuff. Uh-huh. Yeah, no problem! I'll be right on it!" He turns off the phone and reaches for his cell phone again. He needs to text Michael now so his brother can give their mother a heads up that he will be home this weekend. It may be hours before Michael even looks at his phone; it would probably be safer to call Lucy on his own. But that would be too much of a hassle, and Sam is too lazy.

* * *

><p>As much as he dislikes Santa Carla, Michael has never been able to leave it, at least not for long. He is not as lucky or as headstrong as his brother Sam to just rip himself away from everything. Far too much has happened for him to simply get up and leave. Besides, he has responsibilities now, making leaving much more difficult.<p>

There was a time when Michael was seriously considering staying away from Santa Carla for good. He was just finishing up with college and was in a serious relationship. His life looked like it was heading in the right direction. But then his grandfather died, and Michael was forced to return home so that his mother would not be alone. It was his choice, or so Michael says, but he knows that he had little say in the matter. Sam said he would be the one to stay behind, though it was clear he did not want to. Sam, even more so than Michael, was itching to get out of Santa Carla. Sam was still young and just starting a new chapter in his life; Michael could not take that away from him.

Even though he lives in Santa Carla, there are few people stays in touch with. Most of his friends came from his school, and all live in different cities. The few friends from his youth that are from the beachside town have just about vanished. Some have moved on, and others have slipped into addiction, becoming another faceless member of the Santa Carla population. The rest have just simply faded from his life. His new friends are co-workers and the other dads from his kids' schools.

Although Michael had once been sure that he would be with Star for the rest of his life, it did not work out that way. The couple had split up halfway through the summer of 1988. There had been too much trauma in their relationship, and too much guilt on Michael's part that he could bare it no longer. Star had been kind and understanding over it, which made it all the more painful. Instead, Michael ended up with a blond girl named Rochelle he met in the fall of 1988 during his first semester at UCLA. Rochelle was bubbly and light-hearted, and knew nothing of vampires and child killers. She was everything Michael needed.

The incidents of the summer of 1987 are something Michael has never been able to fully recover from. As much as he tries to forget about them, they always pop again, rearing its ugly face just as it is about to this evening.

Michael is helping his youngest daughter, Sophie-Ann with her homework. For being only six-years-old she seems to have quite a bit, much more than he remembers having at that age. The work is simple. All he has to do is monitor Sophie-Ann as she tries to copy down words from her worksheet. She works at painstakingly slow speed, trying her very best to make each letter perfect. It is dull to Michael, but his wife, Rochelle, is too busy preparing dinner to take over. Quinn, their eldest daughter, sits on the other side of the coffee table in the living with them, working on homework of her own. She has barely said two words to anyone since she has returned home, a habit that she has picked up in her teen years.

Sophie-Ann sticks her tongue out through the gap left from her two missing front teeth as she finishes off the T in cat. "Does this look right, Daddy?" she asks.

Michael glances at the paper. "You made the T a capital letter again. You need to move the line down to the middle to make it lower case."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why does it have to be lower case?"

"You only use capital letters if the word is at the beginning of the sentence," Michael explains. "Or if it's a name."

Sophie-Ann blinks her large, brown eyes. "Oh. I like the big T better, though."

"No one cares," Quinn mumbles as she scribbles down her math homework.

Michael shoots her a look. Over the past few years Quinn has changed quite a bit. It seemed to happen overnight. One moment she was the sweet little girl he had always known, then she had gone to bed, and when she woke up she had turned into a sour, angst filled teen. Her lack of respect and newly developed attitude drives Michael crazy to the point he has to resist the urge to slap her.

Sophie-Ann erases the top of the letter, her long, brown curls bounce with the jerky movements of her arm. Once it is gone, she moves the line down through the center. "There! Now it's perfect!" She grins at Michael, her tongue once again slightly poking through her teeth, waiting for his approval. He smiles back; he can't help it. He feels lucky that Sophie-Ann inherited her mother's sunny disposition and somehow her uncle's sense of humor. She is a good girl, better than what he deserves.

"Looks good, kiddo." Just as Michael places a hand on top of his daughter's head, he is distracted by the nearly forgotten television.

"In two weeks Kimberly Lowe will be released from jail. She was convicted in 1989 for aiding her serial killer brother with the abduction and murder of fourteen-year-old Alan Frog."

Michael whips his head in the direction of the television. Alan Frog? When was the last time he had heard anyone say that name? A familiar pit begins to form in his stomach. This feeling of dread has always been linked to that name. It takes Michael a moment to put the other pieces together.

"Lowe was sentenced for twenty-four years for one count of manslaughter and child abuse."

Kimberly's mug shot fades on to the television screen. Michael scowls. He knows this face well; he looked at it every day during the trial. She was a deranged, spiteful woman, and the feelings Michael has towards her cannot be described. There is no word with the depth to measure up to the hatred he feels for her. And there she is, about to walk free.

Quinn watches her father closely. She has seen him mad before, that anger often being directed towards her, but this time it is different. Quinn glances at the television. Whenever these type of stories are on, her parents turn it. She may be fifteen now, practically an adult in her opinion, but they still watch to shelter her and her little sister. Why has he not changed it yet? A photo of a dark haired boy, who looks to be around her age, appears on the screen. He looks vaguely familiar, but Quinn cannot recall from where.

"Alan Frog was kidnapped on his way walking home on the night of August fourteenth in 1987 by Brad Lowe."

A picture of a balding, middle aged man fades on to the screen next to Alan. The man, Brad, is smiling in his photo. Michael grinds his teeth. He can still remember the day when he first met Brad, a sidewalk magician. Michael, along with Sam and the Frog brothers, had stopped to watch his show. Brad had used Alan as a volunteer, smiling at the child just as he is grinning in the picture on screen. If Michael had known what the man was capable of then, had he known what sick thoughts were passing through that twisted mind as he took Alan's hands, Michael would have killed him right there on the spot.

"He was held captive in Lowe's house for three days where he was tortured and sexually assaulted."

"What's sezually assaulted?" Sophie-Ann asks.

Michael suddenly becomes aware of his daughters' presence. They stare at him, waiting for an answer. Michael reaches for the remote and quickly turns off the television. "Nothing," he says. "Are you done with your homework?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you go see if Mom needs any help?"

"Ok!" The little girl jumps from her spot, and scampers off into the kitchen. As soon as she is out of sight, Quinn snatches the remote and turns the television back on.

"Hey," Michael says as he takes it back. He turns the TV off again, and sets the remote beside him, out of reach of Quinn. "Are you finished with your homework?"

"No."

"No TV until you've finished."

"The story will be over by then."

"Maybe you should have finished your homework sooner."

Quinn rolls her eyes. She taps her pencil against her notebook, staring blankly at the unfinished equation. "Was he related to Uncle Edgar? That one kid?"

Michael pauses. He has never discussed Alan and what happened to him with his children. He has barely talked to Rochelle about it. It is something he has wanted to keep in his past, and shelter his family from. But there was no way to deny Edgar and Alan's relation; how many people with the last name of Frog could be in Santa Carla?

"They're brothers."

"Really?" Quinn sets down her pencil. "How come he's never said anything about him?"

"It's not an easy topic, Quinn."

"Well, how come you've never mentioned him?"

Michael shrugs.

"Did you know him? Alan, I mean."

"Yeah."

"Wow." Quinn stares at her father, who has now obviously become uncomfortable. "You know someone that was murdered. Weird."

Weird? Weird is not the word Michael would choose.

"Uncle Sam has a picture of him, doesn't he?" Quinn asks. "I think I remember seeing it at his apartment when we were over there a few years ago. Maybe. I know I have seen him before, though."

"Yeah. They were pretty good friends."

Quinn pauses as she tries to think of what to say next. Her mind is buzzing with questions, but she is not sure how her father will react. She is fascinated with this new link in her family's history. They knew someone who was murdered by a serial killer; how many people can say that? "How did he die?"

"Someone killed him."

"I know," Quinn says, trying her best to not sound annoyed. "It said that on TV. But how did they do it?"

"You need to finish your homework."

"Dad-."

"I'm going to go help your mom and sister," Michael says as he gets up. "You finish your homework."

"How did he die?"

"Homework, Quinn. I'm not discussing this now."

"Dad!"

But it is too late; Michael has left the room and has no intention of answering her question. Quinn sighs, frustrated, as she grabs her pencil again. She double checks for her father, and then reaches across the floor for the remote. The story about Alan and his killers is just about over when she turns it on. However, at the end Quinn does manage to catch a bit.

"We will be airing the 48 Hours special on Brad Lowe's case at nine this evening."

Quinn quickly turns off the TV again before Michael or the rest of her family hears it. By nine o'clock her sister will be in bed and her parents will be too tired to do much. She will be able to watch the special in her room, free from interruptions. She will not miss it; she must learn more about this dead boy.

Michael's mind is still reeling as he walks into the kitchen. Everything is coming back all at once.

"Hey, Daddy!" Sophie-Ann exclaims. She is standing on a chair, leaning over a pot on the oven while she stirs some boiling noodles. "I'm helping Mommy! And I haven't burned myself yet!"

"Good girl."

Rochelle turns away from the vegetables she had been chopping. "Your phone went off. You got a message from Sammy."

"What did he say?"

"He's coming over this weekend," Sophie-Ann announces.

"Is he? What did he say?"

"Just that," Rochelle says. "I didn't reply, though. I figured you would want to. It's strange, though. He never visits on such short notice."

Michael nods as he walks towards Sophie-Ann. He stands beside her, resting his cheek onto of her soft curls. He watches as she continues to stir the pasta. "Be careful with that," he warns the girl. "You're going to knock that over and burn yourself."

Sophie-Ann obeys and slows down. "This is going to be good!"

Rochelle slides the chopped vegetables into a pan. She adds some oil, and then sets it on the burner next to the pasta. "What's going on?" she asks her husband, quietly. There is a clicking noise as Rochelle turns on the burner. Michael watches the flames sprout up, tickling the bottom of the pan.

"I'll tell you about it later," he answers.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, that took me awhile to update! I'm sorry it took so long. I had to do some planning, because I really want this to work. The Hunter is one of my favorite stories I have written on here, so I want to make this go just as well- though looking back there is a lot of things I need to fix. Thank you to those who read this and waited for so long! I promise the next update won't take several months. Hopefully! <strong>


	3. Chapter Three

The Survivor

Chapter Three

_Michael had a habit of getting home in the middle of the night. His mother did not like it since she rarely knew where he was and what he was up to. After the incident, as the family referred to it, from at the beginning of the summer, Lucy did not like her boys going too far into Santa Carla, and hoped that they would have learned from their past experience. Michael, however, had not. _

_By the time he usually makes it back, everyone is in bed. This is what Michael was excepting when he came home one very early Saturday morning, but as he walked through the front door he saw the glaring light from the television breaking through the dark house. It was not surprising; Sam had his two new friends stay the night the first time since they were able to get the house put back together. The boys must have fallen asleep and forgotten to turn it off. It took Michael a moment to notice that one of the boys was still awake. Alan was sitting up on the couch, watching the muted TV. It was past two-thirty in the morning, and he did not look a bit tired. He did not notice the other's presence until Michael shut the door rather loudly, causing the boy to jump. Michael grinned and waved at him. After a moment of hesitation, Alan waved back._

"_What are you still doing up?"Michael asked as he sat down next to Alan._

_The young teen shrugs._

"_Can't sleep?"_

"_Yeah."_

_Michael turned his attention towards the television. MTV was playing, most likely Sam's choice. "So, you like MTV?"_

"_No."_

"_Oh. You know you can turn it."_

_Alan shrugged. Michael was about ready to go to bed, but he did not want to leave the kid downstairs by himself. So, he stayed a little longer and tried to make a better conversation. _

"_I feel like making hot chocolate. Do you want some?"  
>Alan blinked twice, unsure of how to answer. "I don't know."<em>

"_Come on," Michael said as he got up from the couch. Alan hesitated a moment, but then followed him into the kitchen._

_Alan took a seat at the kitchen table, feeling unsure how what he should be doing. Michael took two mugs out of the cupboard."Have you guys been having fun?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Any vampire hunting?"_

"_Your mom wouldn't let us."_

_Michael grinned. "Do you go vampire hunting when you're at other people's houses?"_

"_No," Alan said. "We don't go to other people's houses."_

"_Never?"_

_Alan nodded._

"_So is the first time you've stayed the night anywhere?"_

_The boy nods again. _

"_Is that why you can't sleep?" Michael asked. He filled the cups with water and stuck them in the microwave. "Sorry, we only have the powder kind."_

"_No," Alan said. Then he quickly added, "About not sleeping."_

"_Then why are you still awake?"_

_Alan scratched his fingernails across the table top, trying to give himself something to look at other than Michael. "This is the first time my parents have been without Edgar and me there."_

"_So? They can take care of themselves."_

"_Maybe."_

_The microwave went off. Michael opened the hot chocolate packets, emptied in the powder, and stirred it together. "I'm sure they're fine."_

"_Maybe," Alan repeated. _

"_You know," Michael said as he joined Alan at the table. "It's usually the parents who are worried about the kids." He passes a mug over to Alan, who reluctantly accepts it. Michael smiled at the boy's hesitation. "I didn't poison it or anything. There's no vampire blood."_

"_I know," Alan said, defensively. _

_Michael took a sip of his hot chocolate to help prevent himself from laughing. "So, why are you worried about your parents?"_

"_They forget about things."_

"_Like what?"_

"_Just stuff."_

_Michael studied the boy, wondering what type of home life he had. According to Sam, the Frog parents were pretty out there. Michael had only seen them at a distance, but it was enough create an idea of what kind of parenting style they had. It would be interesting to see where Edgar and Alan would end up as adults with parents like theirs._

* * *

><p>"I'm going to bed!" Quinn yells as runs through the living room, towards the stairs. She passes her parents sitting on the couch.<p>

"You're going to wake your sister up," Michael says.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Good-night to you too."

"Wait a minute," Rochelle says.

The teenager stops at the foot of the stairs and sighs. "What?"

"Come here!"

Quinn sighs loudly again as she walks over to her parents. She is going to miss the show if they keep stalling her. Michael shakes his head at his daughter's actions, but Rochelle smiles. "What?" Quinn asks.

"I just wanted to say good-night!" Rochelle says, extending her arms for a hug. Quinn obeys so that she can get away quicker, and hugs her mother. Rochelle kisses the top of her daughter's head. "Night, Quinny."

"Good-night, Mom. Good-night, Dad."

Michael reaches out and motions for Quinn to hug him as well. The teenager suppresses a sigh as she hugs her father. There are now only a few minutes left until the show starts. "Good-night," she says again.

"Did you finish all of your homework?" Michael asks.

"Yes, Dad."

"Good work, kid! I love you."

"I love you more," Rochelle says, stealing another quick hugs.

"I love you guys too. Good-night!"

"Night!"

Michael and Rochelle watch as their daughter hurries up the stairs. "She's going to bed pretty early," Rochelle says.

"Maybe she's tired from doing her homework for once."

Rochelle grins and rests her head on Michael's shoulder. "At least she's trying. I was the same way at that age. My parents couldn't get me to do anything. I was a very difficult child."

"I can't really imagine that."

"Well, it's true. I'm sure you got into your own trouble when you were her age."

"No. I was a good kid."

"Quinn is a good kid," Rochelle says. "She's just a teenager."

Michael sighs. "I am really looking forward to these teenage years to be over with."

"And we haven't even gotten to Sophie-Ann yet!"

"Great."

* * *

><p>As soon as she gets into her room, Quinn turns on her small television set and flips to the news. There are still commercials playing, so she takes this time to quickly change into her pajamas. Just as she is pulling her slightly oversized t-shirt over her head the opening of the show begins. "Fuck," Quinn swears. She quickly finishes dressing, and jumps onto her bed, positioning herself at the foot of it. Quinn frantically grabs for the remote to turn down the volume, fearing others may listen in on what she is watching. She keeps in the remote in her hand so she is prepared to turn the channel in case her parents decide to invade her privacy.<p>

An elder man with silver hair appears on the screen. Behind him is a collage of pictures, among them being Alan, his killer, the killer's sister, the back of the Santa Carla welcome sign that reads "Murder Capital of the World" in graffiti letters. The man with silver hair begins to speak.

"In a town like Santa Carla, murder is not an unfamiliar. It is a common occurrence in this sunny beach side town, so much so that citizens have nearly become immune to its treacherous impact. However, every few years a crime so horrid and so shocking that it rocks even the most calloused of citizens. One of such times is the case of Brad Lowe, a local, infamous serial killer."

The same picture of Brad that had been used during the news segment shows up. Quinn shivers at the grin on his face. "Lowe had spent much of his adult life stalking and preying upon young teenage boys. He went undetected for many years until the brutal death of his last and youngest victim, Alan Frog."

The screen then changes to Alan's eighth grade school photo, and then fades to one of him as a toddler. As the man continues to narrate, the family pictures change, following Alan as he grew.

"Alan was born on May 24th, 1973 to John and Melanie Frog. He had an older brother, Edgar, who was born just the year before him. Their family lived in a small house in Pleasant Valley, the poverty stricken part of Santa Carla that is often shielded from its many tourists. Childhood was not ideal for the Frog brothers. Money was tight and there was an abundance of drugs. Their parents were ex-hippies and had a free range way of raising their children, allowing them to go about as they like. It was Edgar and Alan who took on much of the responsibility; doing the chores, taking care of the bills, and running the comic book shop the family owned. But even with their lack of discipline and boundaries, the boys managed to remain grounded."

The television now shows a woman in her late middle ages. She has been labeled as Alan's former teacher. Quinn recognizes her right away; the woman still teaches at the middle school. Her name is Susan Nelson, and had been her seventh and eighth grade math teacher. "We had the same teacher," Quinn says to herself. It is a startling revelation to her; she and Alan have something in common.

"He was a good kid," Mrs. Nelson says. "He was very quiet, always looking like he was in thought. He would at least pretend to be paying attention to what I was saying. That's a lot more than I can say for most of the kids I have taught."

Quinn smiles. That would be her and her friends.

The camera cuts to two adults, a male and female. Their names are Julia Young and Elliot Linder. They are older, both adults, but apparently are Alan's cousins. Julia speaks first.

"I adored Alan. I didn't get to see him and Edgar much; we moved from Santa Carla when they were five and four. The only time we saw them when they were older was when they would come over for a few days during Christmas, but I loved it when they would visit. They always be so serious at first- they had to be to survive at home- but eventually they would let go and act like normal kids."

"On our last time together," Elliot says, "we all went to the gym where my dad used to work at. They had a bunch of things there like mats and trampolines and this pit of spongey squares you can jump in. Alan was stiff at first, but I managed to convince him to play on the trampoline with me. He was like a normal kid then, just smiling and having fun, not having to worry about taking care of a family. That's how I always see him."

A picture of Alan, his brother, and cousins slowly zooms in on the screen and fades back into the school portrait. The narrator returns to talking.

"The good times would quickly come to an end. The holidays passed, and the Frog brothers returned to work. Winter turned to spring, and spring into summer. Alan had just finished the eighth grade, and entered into the final days of his young life. Little does he know that during this time, the boy is being stalked by one of the most terrible predators out there.

The show comes to a commercial break. Quinn sits on her bed, tossing the remote back and forth in her hand. She has learned more about Alan, more than her father would have told her, but it not enough. Her mind is reeling with thoughts of this mysterious boy from her family's past. Quinn sighs as a third commercial plays. They are taking too long; she is becoming anxious for the show to start again.

It returns two commercials later, much to Quinn's delight. "Finally," she says to herself. It shows the elder narrator again. Behind him, off to the right is a picture of the man who took Alan's life.

"Brad Lowe was born in the year of 1936. His father, Phillip Lowe, was a handy man while his mother, Barbra, worked in a hair salon. Phillip Lowe disappeared early on in his son's life, leaving behind his wife, his son, and young daughter, Kimberly. Aside from his father's sudden disappearance, most people who knew Brad would describe his childhood as average. He did well in school, and showed no signs of aggression or of being a trouble maker. After graduating high school, Lowe attended a community college where he attempted to get a degree in teaching. However, he ended up dropping out before he could finish his degree, earning himself enough credits to only become a substitute teacher."

"Lowe spent his adult years traveling, doing odd teaching jobs or working as a handyman like his father. He moved from town to town, picking up young male prostitutes along the way. This is how he Brad came across his first victim. In one of the many detailed journals he kept, Brad describes the nameless street kid to be around the age of sixteen and seventeen. Lowe referred to the boy only as "the rabbit", a title given to all of his victims. The murder was a spur of the moment decision, almost accidental, but it was enough to spark his urge to kill."

"After this first murder, Lowe quickly returned to his hometown of Santa Carla. He had managed to contain his urges for six months. Then, he acted again, this time taking a sophomore named Mickey Monroe. Lowe lured the boy into his home with the promise of pricey drugs in exchange of oral sex. He brought Monroe back to his sister's house, where he held the sixteen-year-old captive for two days. During this time, Monroe was subjected to sexual abuse and physical and emotional torture. In his journal, Lowe confesses to taking pleasure into torturing Mickey, particularly when he broke each of the boy's fingers whenever he tried to defy him. but after two days, Lowe became bored with his new toy and finished him off with a hand-made garrote. This is the weapon that he would use on his final three victims."

"Lowe took a year break before going hunting again. In a span of three years, he took two more victims, Jamie Cortes and Robert Palmer, both seventeen. Each boy he murdered had one thing in common: they came from broken or troubled homes. Lowe claimed he chose them, because he felt he was the only one who could provide them with the love and stability they needed. He showed them twisted, sadistic ways, using them as sexual objects and emotionally torturing them over how he believed their families did not care for them. For the most part, Lowe was right. There was little effort in finding any of those boys' killers. Their deaths quickly became forgotten; there was no one to fight for them."

"After killing Robert Palmer, Lowe took another break, this one lasting for five years. He waited patiently to find his next victim, his next rabbit, who he hoped would be the best yet. Then on one fateful day in May of 1987, his disturbing dreams came true. Lowe decided to take a walk down the Santa Carla boardwalk. This is where he discovered his last and youngest victim, Alan Frog. As he passed the comic book shop, Lowe took notice to a young boy. Alan Frog, who had yet to turn fourteen, was busy working in his family's store, completely unaware of the monster who watched him. Lowe described the meeting in his journal."

"_Today is the day! Today is the day I have finally found the perfect rabbit! It is glorious- if only I had the proper words to describe it. The best I can say is that it is very easily the most beautiful and most precious child I have ever seen in my life! He looks a bit younger than the rest- maybe twelve or thirteen- but it does not really make a difference. He is so beautiful and perfect! He will be mine!"_

"In the next passing months, Lowe dedicated all of his free time to stalking the child, gathering every little detail about his life. He kept a detailed journal of his hunt, excitedly writing down every bit of contact he had with Alan."

"Then, on August 14th, 1987, Brad Lowe set the final step of his plan into action. He had watched the Frog's comic book store from a distance, and saw that Alan had been left alone for the first time. Edgar, Alan's brother, and a friend had gone off and left Alan to close up the shop. Lowe followed the boy in his car as Alan began his fifteen minute walk home through the dark and dangerous Santa Carla night. He was about to get out of the car and grab the child when something goes wrong. Another car appears, and stops to talk to Alan. Lowe recognizes the other as the older brother to Alan's friend. The young man had foiled Lowe's plans before, so a very upset Brad drives on a few blocks ahead, preparing himself for the chance of Alan walking by. The other car that had stopped belonged to Michael Emerson. He was on a date with his girlfriend, Star, when they came across Alan."

Michael then appears on screen. Quinn's mouth drops open. There is her father, on television. He looks much younger by maybe ten or more years. He sits in front of the camera, looking just as uncomfortable as he did this night when she was asking questions. Quinn is shocked by this; she had not been expecting to see her father on TV.

"I was out with my girlfriend, Star," the younger Michael says. "We were just driving around, and then she noticed this kid walking alone. I knew it was one of Sam, my brother's, friends, so we stopped and asked if he wanted a ride home since it was late and all. But he kept saying no, that he was fine even after we asked him probably three times. We ended up letting him go. I didn't think anything would happen, I mean he wanders around Santa Carla all of the time and nothing bad ever happened. But-." The television Michael trails off for a moment, and looks at something at on the ground. "But if I had known there was someone like that following him, I'd never let him go. I will regret that for the rest of my life."

The narrator takes over again. "Now with Alan completely on his own, Lowe is able to go in and make his move."

Someone knocks on the door, causing Quinn to jump. "Fuck," she swears, quietly. "What the fuck do they want?" She quickly turns off the TV. "What?"

"Quinn?" Rochelle opens the door and pokes her head inside. Her daughter scowls at her, frustrated by the interruption. "I thought you were going to bed," Rochelle says.

"I am in bed," Quinn replies. "How am I supposed to sleep with people knocking on the door?"

"So, you sleep with the lights and TV on?"

"No."

"So, you were watching TV?"

Quinn scowls. "I was just watching the end of "Teen Mom". That's all."

"Oh," Rochelle says. "You could have watched it downstairs if you wanted."

"You and Dad were in the living room. Besides, I wanted to watch it without having to hear Dad tell me over and over how that better not be me."

Rochelle laughs. "Fair enough. Just don't stay up too late. Oh, and I just wanted to remind you to remember to pack your gym clothes tomorrow. I don't want to get another call from Coach Patterson about you trying to skip out."

"I won't forget."

"Alright! Nighty-night!" Rochelle says, waving as she closes the door.

Quinn waits until she hears her mother go downstairs to turn back on the television. There are commercials playing again. The teenager sighs. "Great," she says. "Now I missed what happened."

Rochelle walks back downstairs, to the living room. "She was up," she says to her husband. "And watching TV."

Michael turns to face her. "I knew it. What was she watching?"

"She says Teen Mom," Rochelle says as she settles herself next to Michael on the couch.

"That's just as bad. I hate that show."

"I know you do." The couple watches the television. It is playing the same show as Quinn, the special over Alan's murder. Neither has said a word, not even when Michael was on screen. Michael barely remembers doing the interview. It was about seven years after Alan had died, and five after the trial. He was still not able to comprehend what happened. He still cannot even now.

The narrator is now talking over the details of Alan's first night at Brad Lowe's house, reading excerpts from the man's journal. Michael grinds his teeth. These are the details that he has never been able to handle, all of the suffering Alan was forced into. It had not gotten easier over time, and certainly not after he had his own children. He can now understand better how young and innocent Alan was, even with his abnormal maturity. The boy would have been so terrified, and there was no one to comfort him. Another photograph of Alan appears on the screen, one where he is looking directly at the camera. His expression looks as if he had been caught off guard, and with the underlying audio it makes him look he is more scared than surprised. Michael begins to ache at the sight of the picture. Alan was so young, now younger than his oldest child. Either of his kids could easily be in his place, which is something Michael tries his best to prevent.

"He was a cute little thing," Rochelle says. "I don't know how anyone could want to hurt him, or any child for that matter."

"Yeah."

"I don't want to distract you from this, but I find it funny that Edgar is still wearing that Rambo headband after all of these years."

Michael smiles this. "He really hasn't changed much."

"Do you think he's watching this?"

"No. Probably not," Michael replies. "I don't think he likes looking at pictures of Alan. I'm pretty sure Sam said he packed everything the first year and hasn't looked at it since."

Rochelle sighs and rests her head against Michael's shoulder. "It's not fair."

* * *

><p>A blonde haired woman sits a small wooden desk with a pen in hand. A nearly blank piece of paper sits in front of her, waiting to be finished. The woman taps the end of the pen against her hand. She is lost in thought. There is a very important letter that needs to be written, and she must use the perfect words. All she has managed to write is "Dear Mr. and Mrs. Frog".<p>

The heavy door slides open. She looks over to see who has disturbed her.

"Ms. Lowe," a young female guard says. "There's someone here to see you."

"Who?"

"Your lawyer. He has something he wants to discuss with you."

"Of course he does," Ms. Lowe says. No one has visited her in years, and now she cannot get that pesky man to stay away. She turns back to her paper. "Tell him I will see him a minute."

"You're going to have to go now. I can't wait for you."

Kim sighs. "Fine. If I must." She sets down her pen and rises from her seat. She will have to finish the letter later.

* * *

><p><strong>So, I updated much quicker than I had expected! And it's a tiny bit longer, too! I'm sorry if this was boring. It was a little more of a recap of what happened to Alan in a way. It also gave a little more to the hunter's story, like some of his background. The story will be picking up after this chapter since everyone will be coming back. I promise! Thank you for reading and possibly reviewing! <strong>


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